


Gangsta. (can we talk about it)

by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf), Starrie_Wolf



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Don't copy to another site, Gangsta. AU, M/M, POV Outsider, contains art, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Silmari%C3%ABn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: Having come from outside Soul Society, it’s like Keigo has travelled to a different world, nay, a differentdimensionaltogether. Mizuiro said to meet him at this candy store, right?Wait, the candies actually containCelebrer?!





	1. Day 1: "Dimension" Travel

**Author's Note:**

> Warning that chapters 2 and 4 contain explicit scenes. If you're only interested in the fight scenes, you can consider skipping the latter half of this chapter and the first half of chapter 4, although **you will miss a fair amount of character/relationship development and backstory**.

Keigo whistles a nameless tune as he meanders through the streets.

“Let’s see,” he mumbles, tracing the marked route on his map with a finger. “It should be… around here?”

He can’t help but look around in interest at the buildings around him, though. They are built in the Old Edo style, and if Keigo didn’t know better, he would’ve said he had accidentally travelled to a different world – nay, a different _dimension_ altogether, one where the Meiji revolution had never happened and Japan is still mired in those traditions Keigo has only ever read about in his history books.

But such is the style of Soul Society, the domain of the _Shinigami_.

Oh, they aren’t _real_ death gods – or even gods at all, although they aren’t really human anymore; Keigo didn’t sleep through so many history classes to not even know _that_. Or… he supposes, it makes more sense to say they’re not-quite-human, but due to artificial means.

During some major war whose name he has forgotten (about ten minutes after he submitted his history paper) in some era a couple centuries ago, a drug named Celebrer was developed to temporarily boost the speed, strength and endurance of the user to superhuman levels. With this drug in hand and his army of fearless _death gods_ , the warlord easily swept across the whole of Japan, conquering lands none of his predecessors had managed to touch.

It’s only after the war ended that the side-effects of Celebrer came to light.

Celebrer is highly addictive, neurotoxic, and any attempt to wean the user off causes permanent disability or death at best, sends them into a rabid state at worst. It’s currently the most heavily banned substance in the world, equivalent to the smallpox virus – all but in Soul Society. For all children born to a Shinigami parent are Shinigami from birth, and are dependent on the drug for the rest of their lives.

However, most Shinigami are only a little stronger than the average human, and so their dependency on Celebrer instead made them prime target for abuse.

Faced when no recourse, the government banished all Shinigami to an isolated island, far from human society, and handed them a copy of the Celebrer recipe. As long as they stay on this island, they are free to govern themselves, and to live out their lives as they please.

Keigo never thought he, as a mere human, would one day seek work in Soul Society, but money is money, and the job vacancy comes highly recommended by his best friend Mizuiro.

He pauses outside the shop and leans back to double-check the shop name against his email printout.

 _Urahara Shōten_ , says the sign, with the little firebird symbol in the corner that marks its ownership by one of the Four Great Powers that govern Soul Society.

He’s… in the right place then.

He hopes?

There’s the quiet tinkle of a bell when he slides the front door open, and a man calls out what Keigo understands is a greeting, even though the grammar is strange and archaic. Well, given the Edo-era style housing he’s been seeing the entire walk, he shouldn’t be surprised that the language is also a little different from the modern slang he’s used to.

Keigo makes it three steps into the interior of the shop when he freezes.

“Uh,” he says eloquently.

There’s a man sitting behind the counter, looking for all the world like a shopkeeper from one of those historical dramas his sister loves, except… what is he _wearing_? His robe is in the proper muted green of a shopkeeper’s traditional garb, but it’s made in a fabric so sheer that he may as well be naked.

Even if it is a hot day, there’s no need to dress like that, right!

“Asano-san?”

Keigo drags his gaze away up to the man’s face.

“Er, yes. Yes! Ahaha, Asano Keigo, reporting!” Keigo almost snaps into a salute. “Uh, Urahara-tenchō?”

“This one does not dare to presume to be the master of this establishment,” Urahara demurs, fluttering his fan. “This one is merely caring for the shop while Sir is away at more pressing engagements.”

Right. Shinigami – other than the nobles – can’t own properties. Keigo’s gaze catches on the stunning crimson choker clasped around the man’s throat, decorated with a tiny gold firebird pendant. It’s like a train wreck, he can’t stop staring in horrified fascination. “So, is this, like… a uniform or something?” If the guy says yes, then he will just have to kiss that beautiful sum of money goodbye! He’s not so shameless as to pull off something like this!

Urahara actually grins. He looks unfairly confident, even though he’s the one sitting there all naked like that. “Asano-san may rest assured, Sir does not have requirements on how his employees should dress.”

So this, uh, _creative_ take on traditional attire is Urahara’s own idea?!

“Is Mizuiro around?” he asks hopefully.

“This one is afraid Kojima-san is on a delivery at the moment.” Urahara snaps a white fan open, shielding the bottom half of his face, but there’s no hiding the obvious smile in his voice.

Okay. Okay, weird-ass attire or not, Urahara knows who Mizuiro is, which means Keigo’s in the right place. That’s a silver lining, right? If that’s his supervisor, then at least Keigo won’t be eviscerated for staring at a Shinigami stranger?

No. No no no no no, being eviscerated for staring at his Shinigami boss is definitely, a-hundred-percent, worse!

Keigo sneaks another peek at Urahara, who seems to have gone back to reading his book. If there’s a power level etched on that tiny pendant, Keigo can’t see it from here. But that doesn’t matter; even a D/5 will wipe the floor with someone like him!

… maybe he should, you know, start going to the gym.

Or just hide behind Mizuiro, yeah. That sounds like a better idea. It’s almost sundown, the shop should be closing soon and his best friend back from his errands, right? And anyway, why is a simple candy store doing _deliveries_? Is Seireitei so hard up that even something like chocolate is a luxury item?!

The tinkle of the bell makes Keigo jump a foot in the air. He squeaks, darting behind a shelf. He’s just… composing himself until he can figure out the situation, yeah!

Peering out cautiously from behind the shelf, Keigo can see a group of burly men strut into the shop like they own the place. They’re all dressed like yakuza thugs, Shinigami collars around their necks. The one in the lead slams one meaty palm onto the counter.

“Pay up, your protection fee’s due,” he demands.

Keigo barely manages to stifle a squeak when he finally catches sight of the tags around one of his followers’ necks. That’s a C/5! Doesn’t this mean the leader is ranked even higher, like a C/1 or C/0 or something?!

Urahara closes his book gently and sets it to the side. Just for the expression on his face alone, Keigo will have to give him maximum coolness points. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit ruffled!

“This one is not aware of any protection fees due,” he murmurs, eyes lowered politely.

The leader slams his fist into the counter, rattling it so hard Keigo is surprised it doesn’t break. “There’s been a change of ownership, this district is now under the management of the Kyokuryū-kai.”

Urahara doesn’t even flinch. “This Shōten is located in Southern Soul Society, and thus Shiba lands by birthright. The dispute of the gangs in Central hold no power here.”

Mentally, Keigo wants to frantically press the downvote button, tears streaming from his eyes. Urahara-san, acting cool is one thing, being allowed to live is another!!

The leader’s lips twist into a sneer. “An E-rank also dares to talk back to us?” He grips his tags in one hand, thrusting them out imperiously in what Keigo recognises is an official Shinigami challenge stance.

It’s worse than he thought, the leader’s a B/5!!

Shinigami power levels are graded on an official scale ranging from ranks D to S, and each rank is further subdivided into classes 0-5. The power differential between ranks is exponential; there are probably fewer than a hundred A-ranks in the whole of Soul Society. Never mind the legendary S-rank: by tradition, the six S-rank classes are unique to one individual only, and in each generation they tend to be the leaders of their respective factions. For example, Yamamoto Genryūsai, the first and the only S/0 in history, had been the one to unite Soul Society.

Keigo doesn’t know what an E-rank is, that’s not in the textbooks, but E is below D in the alphabet! That can’t be a good sign!!

“Scared?” The followers all laugh at that. “If you won’t pay up, then maybe we’ll take you as payment instead!”

Urahara is still impossibly, ridiculously calm. “This one is not for sale,” he demurs, like that wasn’t a rhetorical statement.

The leader seems to have had enough of it. He snarls, reaches over the counter to grab the front of Urahara’s robe –

Keigo doesn’t see what happened next, just blurs of high-speed motion, but he can hear the shocked yell, the sharp _snap_ of a bone getting broken.

The scene resolves into something he can process visually again.

The leader is cradling a broken arm a few steps away from the counter, being supported by his followers. “Who are you?” he demands, his voice now high and reedy, all the previous bravado gone.

There is a newcomer sitting on the counter now. He looks like a normal young adult to Keigo, dressed in a T-shirt printed with a large ‘15’, and a pair of blue jeans. Save for his bright orange hair and the tell-tale Shinigami tags around his neck, he could’ve passed off as one of Keigo’s high school classmates.

“Who am I?” he snorts. “Who are _you_ , to invade my territory, lay claim to my shop, and assault _my_ people?”

Urahara is still seated behind the counter, holding the paper fan, not a single hair out of place. “Sir,” he greets calmly.

The newcomer – who’s apparently the owner of this shop – stares down at the group of thugs, and holds out the tags hanging around his neck in the exact same challenge as before.

 _Shiba Ichigo_ , says the first tag.

 _S/1_ , says the second, in big bold letters designed to be seen from a mile away.

Keigo squeaks and actually does topple over this time.

He cracks an eye open gingerly, only to find that his appearance hasn’t been remarked upon. Shiba hasn’t even looked over, he’s just staring down the thugs like he’s waiting for an explanation. Come to think of it, don’t Shinigami have enhanced senses? Which means…

Which means, the thugs and everyone, they’ve known he’s here the whole time?

Keigo tries to muffle a scream at that realisation. Busy with his own thoughts, he misses most of the subsequent exchange between Shiba and the thugs, but he would have to be blind not to notice when all the thugs scram like the hounds of hell were after them. Keigo would really like to follow suit, but this guy is apparently his boss – or the boss of his boss – so that means he’s not going to kill Keigo, right?

As… as long as he gets paid, everything is a-ok _ay_!

He props himself up on the shelf, ready to introduce himself. First impressions are important, but it’s only been five minutes, he can still make a turn-around!

Shiba swings his legs around so that he’s now facing Urahara, fists a hand in his robe, and drags him into an open-mouthed kiss.

So that – that’s why –

Now that Urahara is rising out of his seat, bracing one arm on the countertop to lean into Shiba’s kiss, Keigo realises something else that he hasn’t noticed while Urahara was sitting down. Urahara’s not wearing pants, or even shorts, he’s… there’s…

The only reason Keigo knows what a cock cage looks like is because he once opened the door to his sister’s room without knocking and was scarred for life by what he saw on her computer screen, okay???

Shakily, he reaches for one of the wrapped candies behind him. _Upp. Vol. 10%_ , the wrapper says. Keigo has never seen truffles with alcohol content that high, but he figures things must be different with Shinigami physiology. He really needs a drink.

“Don’t eat that.”

Now they’re both staring at him. Great.

“I… I can pay for it!” Keigo stutters. He’s seen the price just now, he can afford something like this.

Shiba blinks. “That’s a double-dose Celebrer upper truffle, you’ll die if you eat that. The human selection is over here.” He points at the display case behind Urahara, at the ones Keigo assumed are luxury branded candies, since each of them costs more than ten times the price of everything else he’s seen in the shop.

Keigo faints.


	2. Day 2: Established Relationship | Different First Meeting

Judging from what Ichigo can sense of his aura, Mizuiro is less than five minutes away from the shop. Ichigo has every confidence that he’ll close up shop and orientate Keigo, whenever he gets around to waking up.

He wraps an arm around Kisuke’s waist, the only warning he needs to give, and then five minutes later they’re standing on the balcony of their house.

“My apologies for troubling Sir,” Kisuke murmurs, eyes dutifully downcast.

He’s not truly penitent, of course, just like Ichigo can tell he’s also only apologising because he feels it’s the thing to do in this situation, and not because Kisuke is genuinely worried that Ichigo would be upset. They’ve come a long way from those kinds of misunderstandings.

After all, Ichigo now knows why Kisuke does not fight back.

Ichigo shakes his head, rejecting the apology. “What’s the use of being the most powerful person alive in Soul Society right now, if I can’t even protect the dream of someone important to me?”

Kisuke’s expression melts into a startled, shy little smile, the way it always does whenever Ichigo so much as implies that he’s important – which is why Ichigo makes it a point to do it so often.

Once, Kisuke wouldn’t have believed him. He would’ve flinched when Ichigo moves to wrap an arm around his waist, would’ve prostrated himself to beg for forgiveness for matters not within his control.

Personally, Ichigo thinks his previous owners were the biggest fools.

Just because there hasn’t been a Shinigami this powerful born outside the noble houses since Aizen Sōsuke – still a notorious name, a century after his death – does not mean that history is doomed to repeat. Particularly if they stopped trying to kill Kisuke by sending him on assassination missions he was never meant to come back alive from.

“Does Sir wish to take his dinner now?”

Ichigo blinks rapidly, casting a glance at the quiescent blond tucked against his side. For a moment, that image is superimposed by a tiny blond boy, waifish and malnourished, standing over Ichigo with a dagger in the palm of his hand.

“No,” he decides. “I’m in the mood for something else.”

Yes, they’ve come a long way indeed, Ichigo reflects, when Kisuke simply tucks his hair behind his ear and begins sinking to his knees on the balcony like he means to blow Ichigo right there. Only his eyes betray his amusement when Ichigo hauls him up by his choker and drags him to the privacy of their bedroom.

They separate after that, Ichigo to lose the rest of his clothes and Kisuke to select a cock ring.

“This one?” Ichigo confirms, accepting it from Kisuke. It’s one of the more ostentatious ones they own, etched with gold and scarlet runes. “You think you’ve done well enough in the past two weeks to deserve this one?”

There’s a flash of uncertainty in Kisuke’s eyes, there and gone again almost immediately, an instinctual response he could never quite suppress even though he knows intellectually that Ichigo is only teasing him.

Ichigo doesn’t remark on it, knowing that Kisuke doesn’t like to dwell on his past. They’ve worked it all out between themselves long ago, and if Ichigo is to demand that Kisuke place all his trust in him, he must in return extend the same trust that Kisuke will speak up if he’s uncomfortable.

Kisuke nods wordlessly, the spark of mischief in his gaze dimmer than usual but still very much present.

Ichigo heaves a long breath as though put out, and gestures for Kisuke to position himself.

Kisuke settles onto the bed, like seiza except with his knees spread. Ichigo runs a finger along the seam of his chastity belt, unlocking it with his power.

“So hard already,” he murmurs appreciatively, and although Kisuke’s head is lowered deferentially Ichigo can still see his cheeks turning a faint pink.

He reaches out, getting a firm grasp on the length, and can’t resist giving it a good stroke or two.

“Sir!” Kisuke’s head snaps up.

Ichigo can’t help but laugh at Kisuke’s expression, giving his cock a light pat in apology. He draws the balls up, cinching the cock ring firmly around the base.

Kisuke gives a full-body shiver, but he nods when Ichigo glances at him questioningly.

Ichigo rolls his shoulders to loosen them, sitting back on his haunches to examine his handiwork. Kisuke is still flushed from the earlier teasing, his cock rising under Ichigo’s appreciative scrutiny.

He stretches luxuriously, letting himself collapse backwards onto the pillows. “Why don’t you get me ready?”

Kisuke moves to obey, first fetching a pillow to position Ichigo’s hips higher, and then hiking one of Ichigo’s legs over his shoulder for a better angle. His fingers are confident but unhurried, dragging teasingly over Ichigo’s prostate for a few times before Ichigo cracks an eye open and puts a stop to it.

He wants to come on Kisuke’s cock, not his fingers, damn it.

Kisuke grins at him, unrepentant, and then does something with his fingers that makes Ichigo hiss.

Ichigo rolls his eyes, kicking his heel against Kisuke’s shoulder blade, a silent demand for him to hurry up already. Kisuke shakes his hair out of his eyes, expression smoothing out into something more intensely focused as he lines himself up.

He comes soon, far too soon, and maybe Ichigo would’ve been embarrassed once upon a time but it’s just Kisuke, who’s been with him for more than half his life and will never judge. Besides, he’s young enough that he could just go another round in a minute or two.

Gradually, Ichigo becomes aware of Kisuke’s presence kneeling beside Ichigo’s torso, his entire frame trembling minutely. Has he been –

He motions lazily at him to speak.

“May this one –” Kisuke swallows audibly, his voice breathless “– may he take his pleasure from Sir’s body?”

Well.

It _has_ been a while since Kisuke was last allowed to come, hasn’t it?

He must’ve made a vague noise of assent, for Kisuke draws in a quick, sharp breath. He shuffles closer on his knees, presenting his erection for Ichigo’s inspection. Precome dribbles from the tip as the cock ring is removed, and he looks like he has to take a few deep breaths just to avoid coming on the spot.

Ichigo lets his legs fall apart in silent invitation, still relaxed and languid from his first orgasm.

Kisuke… there’s no description for it. As though the cock ring had been a physical restraint, the way he takes Ichigo now is devoid of any attempt to hold himself back. Ichigo clutches at the bedsheets with one hand, his free hand dropping between his legs to take himself in hand…

Kisuke stills, biting his lip. There’s a curtain of hair covering his expression, but there’s no hiding the way his cock shudders and twitches inside Ichigo, filling him up with come, and it’s the wet rush of heat, the knowledge that Kisuke trusts him enough to yield even the last modicum of his control that does Ichigo in for a second time that night.

Kisuke pulls free, chest heaving, rather obviously trying not to look at his own come dripping liberally out of Ichigo’s wet, _used_ hole. He prostrates himself, pressing his forehead to Ichigo’s bicep, too overcome to voice his gratitude like he usually would.

With some difficulty – his muscles feel like jelly – Ichigo manoeuvres a hand into Kisuke’s hair and runs his fingers through the blond locks soothingly.

They’ll have to clean up soon, and eat, but for now Ichigo’s content to stay like this for a while.


	3. Day 3: Outsider PoV

Hanatarō knocks politely on the back door of Urahara Shōten before he opens it with his own keys. He pushes the trolley of crates into the shop, a greeting ready on the tip of his tongue, only to find the counter occupied by two humans instead of the shopkeeper he is expecting to see.

“Good morning, Mizuiro-san,” he greets the one he does recognise.

“Morning. This is my friend Keigo, he’ll be starting work at the Shōten today,” Mizuiro introduces. “Keigo, this is Medic Hanatarō. He brings the weekly Celebrer deliveries.”

“U-uh, hello!” Keigo says brightly. He’s craning his neck, not at all subtle at his attempt to peer at the tags around Hanatarō’s neck, but there’s no aura of malice around him. He squeaks when Hanatarō flips the tags such that they lie against his chest for ease of reading, his eyes growing wide as if in awe.

Hanatarō doesn’t quite understand why. He’s only a D/5, the lowest class of the lowest rank, barely any better than a well-trained human. If Keigo responds like that to him, how would he react to seeing Shiba-dono, or even Urahara-tenchō? Although, Urahara-tenchō seems to prefer a different set of tags these days, so maybe Keigo won’t realise.

Oh, speaking of whom…

“Where is Tenchō-san?”

“Ichigo-dono just got home from the Family meetings last night,” explains Mizuiro, “so Tenchō-san will probably take at least the morning off.”

That’s fair, Hanatarō supposes. Shiba-dono had been gone for almost two weeks this time. But still…

“What if someone tries to rob the shop?” he can’t help but ask. Urahara Shōten is the only supplier of Celebrer in the entire of Soul Society, largely because of Urahara-tenchō’s presence. None of the Families would trust somebody less powerful – or more ambitious – to be in charge of the only thing keeping them alive.

The more powerful someone is, the more Celebrer they need to ingest every day. The nobles take it with their three meals a day, unlike Hanatarō, who only needs one single-dose infused chocolate every other week.

“Oh, they’re welcome to try.” Mizuiro is still smiling. It’s actually a little terrifying, for all that Hanatarō is a Shinigami and Mizuiro only human. “I’m sure they will regret it.”

Hanatarō doesn’t know why, but a shiver goes down his spine anyway. This feeling is almost the same as the one he gets when the Goddess Yachiru-dono smiles at him, but she’s the second most powerful Shinigami in Soul Society and Mizuiro’s just a human.

Or maybe it just goes to show how useless he is. Hanatarō knows that he’s weak, that his bloodline is so dilute that he barely counts as a Shinigami. He doesn’t quite understand why Shiba-dono keeps him on as a retainer at all; surely there are many more accomplished healers in the Gotei who would jump at the chance of becoming the Shiba Family medic on-call.

Instead, Shiba-dono had chosen him. Weak little Hanatarō, who isn’t good enough for even the Gotei.

Then again, Urahara-tenchō had once tried to assassinate Shiba-dono, but Shiba-dono’s only response was to buy out his contract from the Shihōin Family, allow him to change his designation to that of a mere entertainer, and even build him his own shop. Since that’s the kind of person Shiba-dono is, Hanatarō thinks he understands.


	4. Day 4: "Reincarnation"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Favourite chapter alert (entirely for the art at the end XD)

Kisuke awakens with the dawn, as is his habit.

Today, he doesn’t get up immediately, instead turning his head to look over to his side. Sir is sprawled over his half of the bed, head turned trustingly to face the wall, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. One of his ankles is pressed against Kisuke’s leg.

There are a dozen ways he can kill Sir before he wakes up, Kisuke thinks. A dagger through that lovely, broad, _vulnerable_ back – an acupuncture needle through the spine – or just reach out, curve his hands around that neck, and _twist_ –

Kisuke lets his eyes slip shut again, lets the sound of Sir’s steady breathing lull him into an almost-meditative state.

This body is still thin, but no longer malnourished like before, and no longer encumbered by the confusion of a growth spurt messing with his strength and reach. Kisuke flexes his fingers. He _can_ do it, if he wants to.

But he doesn’t _have_ to.

Kisuke likes this incarnation of himself better.

He rolls out of bed. The chastity belt is still lying on the bedside table where they’d abandoned it last night, but Kisuke doesn’t move to pick it up. Today is a supply run day, which means the shop will be closed in the morning. Hanatarō has that brute Zaraki with him, and Mizuiro knows how to operate the defences built into the shop; even an army will not be enough to take over the shop.

Kisuke leaves it behind on the table.

Breakfast first. The remnants of rice and meat from last night’s dinner make for good onigiri, and one of Sir’s personal assistants will always make sure the fridge is fully stocked.

Right on time, he hears footsteps behind him, deliberately audible so as to not startle.

“Good morning,” Sir murmurs. He slings his arm around Kisuke’s waist and leans in for a kiss.

Kisuke is careful not to drop the onigiri in his hand as he kisses back. The easy familiarity of this still floors him, sometimes, an outcome he could never have dreamed of as a child but has now grown accustomed to.

“Not going to the shop today?” Sir asks, his eyes flickering down Kisuke’s body. It’s an appreciative glance, but without any heat in it.

Kisuke shakes his head.

Sir hums. “Good,” he decides. “I’ve got a lot of reports to catch up on and could do with a second pair of eyes.”

The reports are pleasantly mind-numbing. Sir has an efficient team and doesn’t exactly need Kisuke’s help, no matter what he says. It leaves Kisuke free to drowse, kneeling in seiza on the thick sheepskin rug in front of the couch, his head pillowed on Sir’s thigh.

Sir casually shifts in position, his legs splaying open.

Kisuke cracks an eye open. There’s still a stack of supplies requisition forms, several personal missives, an invitation to a celebration from the Kuchiki Family regarding a new adoption…

He leans forward, slipping between Sir’s thighs, and unzips Sir’s shorts.

Sir’s hand pauses a brief moment before he goes back to penning his response. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t acknowledge Kisuke in any way. Emboldened by this tacit permission, Kisuke cups his hands around the flaccid length and draws the tip into his mouth.

It twitches in his mouth, but Kisuke resists the urge to suck on the tip. Sir would not be happy to be any more distracted than he already is; his paperwork currently resembles a small mountain, and they’ve barely managed to make a dent. Instead, Kisuke keeps his mouth loose and relaxed, slowly feeding the full length of it down his throat, giving himself plenty of time to adjust and to breathe through the stretch.

Sir runs a hand through Kisuke’s hair, tilting the letter in his hands so that Kisuke can read what’s written on it.

Ah, it’s the invitation to the Kuchiki ceremony… does he want to attend? Kisuke can’t say he does, but Sir has to, and therefore Kisuke ought to go along to keep him company. He can amuse himself by scandalising those uptight clan elders with his blatant affection for Sir.

He dips his head in a slight nod.

Sir moves the letter away, no doubt to confirm that he’ll be bringing a plus-one.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screams.

Sir’s brush halts halfway from the inkpot. It’s dripping a generous amount of ink onto the parchment, but Sir isn’t looking at the letter any more. His free hand comes to rest lightly on Kisuke’s shoulder, his head turned towards the balcony, the origin of the sounds… of explosions?

The floor shakes beneath them as if there is an earthquake, fragile items falling off shelves and shattering.

Kisuke braces himself on his knees and starts sucking.

The drywall gives way under the force of the next explosion, the entire balcony shearing off as if it is mere putty, but Sir has just picked up another report from the pile and so Kisuke doesn’t stop.

An uprising, he thinks. One that has only just come to light, from what he can see on the back of the report that Sir just started flipping through. It’s not from the Shiba network; he recognises the Shihōin crest stamped in the corner.

Another megalomaniac who believes that having superhuman abilities gives them the right to subjugate normal humans, and one who is powerful enough – or his followers numerous enough – that the Shihōin have seen fit to forward a copy of their intelligence report.

Sir sighs, a tiny exasperated sound.

Kisuke hums, a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, and reluctantly lets the cock slip from his mouth. He can see why Sir is concerned; Soul Society has been a haven for the Shinigami since its inception a century ago, a place where they can live without being forced into constant war. Fighting against the humans… it will be pointless. Physically weak or not, there are seven billion humans on this planet and less than half a thousand Shinigami. In the end, the ones to be subjugated will always be them.

He looks up and meets Sir’s eyes.

Sir’s brows furrow slightly. The muscles beneath Kisuke’s hands stay tensed, like he’s ready to rise at any moment. He doesn’t ask if Kisuke is sure, but he looks deeply conflicted.

“I would never presume to demand that of you,” Sir clarifies, as though Kisuke doesn’t know that already. If Kisuke doesn’t ever want to lift his hand against another being, Sir will make sure he is strong enough to fight for both of them.

This time, Kisuke does not lower his gaze. He can deflect, but…

“This one wants to,” he finally says, his tone completely serious.

Sir suddenly relaxes into the couch. He takes his eyes off the gathered army outside the new exit to their house, and releases Kisuke’s shoulder.

Kisuke rises onto his knees, his movements careful and fluid to honour the privilege of that trust. He reaches out, wraps his hands around Sir’s neck, and gently unclasps the locket that Sir has never taken off for as long as Kisuke has been in his care.

There is a pair of tags strung on a chain inside the locket, and the sight of the painfully familiar rank makes Kisuke flinch a little. He hasn’t seen these for a decade, ever since Sir had new ones engraved after his transfer to the Shiba Family.

He slips the tags over his head, rises to his feet, and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

And then he throws himself off of what’s left of the fifth floor.


	5. Day 5: Mafia | Blood | Magical Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it's not a Starrie Wolf story without an action scene. Or three.  
> Similarly, it's not an AU rewrite of canon without at least one scene adapted from canon. Sorry, Askin, except not really.

He lands in a crouch.

It’s not even intentional. Rather, the moment he jumped off the building; nay, the moment he slipped those tags over his head, it’s like a switch flipped inside his head.

A Shinigami is born with their rank. It’s not something that can atrophy with disuse, not like muscles or bones or anything structural.

Kisuke straightens. His right hand flashes up, snatching a blade out of the air. It hums in his hand, a song of blood and death, a promise of violence.

“Move aside.”

The report had been scarce on the quantity and quality of their opponents, but the very fact that they were able to evade the Shihōin intelligence network for so long already spoke of their capabilities – likely A-ranked, all of them. The one who addresses him now… a squad leader of some sort, probably an A/0.

Two A/0s in front of him, two hiding in the wings, and an assortment of minions. Kisuke tilts his head consideringly. There’s something not quite right about them…

“Are you deaf?” The woman demands, hands on her hips. “Or are you so eager to die for your master?” She sniffs. “Somebody who uses his personal _entertainer_ as cannon fodder –”

Another of the A/0s, a young girl with blond hair, tug on her sleeve. “ _Candice_ ,” she hisses sharply. “That’s –”

He has never done this before, but he’s seen enough people do it over the years to know how a challenge is supposed to be done. Kisuke holds out his tags, flips the top one over to show his rank, and waits.

Candice’s face contorts.

Kisuke leaps away from his previous position, drawing Benihime in a slash in front of him, and not a moment too soon; a gigantic lightning bolt strikes the ground, followed belatedly by the rumble of thunder.

Definitely one of the stronger A/0s he’s had the displeasure of meeting, just like Zaraki Kenpachi.

He slashes Benihime down to block a strike from a black-haired woman, sweeps to the side to parry an arrow from Candice, and catches the next punch in the palm of his hand, throwing that pink-haired woman into a building.

“As expected of a Special War Potential.” Incongruently, the blond girl in front of him is smiling. She inhales deeply, her lips pursing –

“Liltotto! Not my darlings!”

The not-quite soldiers milling about suddenly charge towards them – towards _him_ , and as they draw near enough Kisuke finally spots what has been pinging his senses. Their expressions are a touch too vacant, even for Shinigami doped on Celebrer Uppers, some of them trailing grievous wounds and injuries that should have been incapacitating… if they are alive.

Benihime unleashes a wave of destructive energy, but there are far too many of them, and where a Shinigami may stagger at the pain the zombies do not pause. Kisuke switches to a defensive stance instead, calling up a blood-mist shield that wraps around him.

“You can’t attack, if you’re always defending,” taunts the woman with long blue-black hair. “My darlings just need to wear you out!”

Kisuke’s brows draw together in consternation. “This one has made no such claim?” Is that the limitation of an A-rank: devastating offence, or impenetrable defence, but not both simultaneously?

He angles Benihime downwards, gathers his power, and brings it to bear in the form of a hundred thousand shards that skewer through everything within the range of his perception.

The dust settles.

Kisuke releases his shield, but does not lower his guard. Nothing is moving, but that is the suspicious part. To splinter his powers into so many shards weakens the damage that each individual shard can deal; he expects the four A/0s to be moderately wounded at best.

“Askin, you bastard!”

The area finally clears enough to reveal all four women lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious, and someone else standing on a nearby roof. Kisuke’s eyes narrow at the newcomer. This man…

Ordinarily, a Shinigami’s rank is immutable. Although there exist Shinigami who are particularly susceptible to Celebrer Uppers, allowing them to defeat someone several classes above them, there has never been a recorded case of someone who can surpass the limitations of their rank.

S-ranked Shinigami are unique while they still draw breath. Even an S/5 like Kisuke, the lowest-ranked of the six, should not find his match in any of the A-ranked Shinigami – has that A/0 brute Zaraki not tried, time and time again, overdosing himself on dangerous amounts of Celebrer Uppers in a misguided attempt to force Kisuke to draw a weapon?

And yet, the feel of this man is different from the four A/0s before.

He can feel Sir’s sudden attention, like a laser raking down his spine. It is not just him who senses this, then.

Askin smiles, taking a step closer.

Kisuke lifts Benihime – or tries to, anyway. His body is suddenly too heavy, and he almost crashes to his knees, barely bracing himself on Benihime in time. He folds himself carefully into a cross-legged position, Benihime stabbed into the ground in front of him, propping his chin up.

More powerful than him or not, there is only one man Kisuke will willingly go to his knees for.

“How do you like my poison pool?” Askin asks, as though commenting on the weather. “Well, I say ‘poison’, but it’s not like your run-of-the-mill poison. No, what you’re getting poisoned with is actually your own powers.”

Kisuke does not speak, but Askin seems happy to monologue on.

“Well, to be precise, I kill by causing a lethal dosage of the chosen substance that I manipulate. But in order to do that, I need to take a great deal of that substance into my own body.” In other words, all those shards that were meant for the zombies… Askin must have been waiting for the vanguards to fail, and for Kisuke to expend a significant amount of his own power. “Unfortunately, my stomach’s about to explode from drinking too many café au laits. So, until it settles down a bit… you’ll have to just wait there patiently.”

“How fascinating.”

Kisuke almost jumps, if not for Askin’s ability holding him captive. That voice, can it be…

“From what I can gather from your logorrhoea, if your opponent can’t move, then it seems rather simple to just reach out and strangle them while you can.”

Askin spins around, just as she vaults away. “Would it kill you to have some god-damned –” he fires a bolt of energy at her, but she dodges it easily “– _elegance_?”

“Yeah, no,” Yoruichi-san snorts, landing on a nearby pile of rubble, almost directly in front of Kisuke. “I don’t do ‘elegance’.” She glances backwards. “Hiya, Kisuke.”

He tries to swallow, but it’s like something is stuck in his throat. Having to leave the Shihōin Family means that he hasn’t seen her since… and for a moment a dozen things well up in his chest, things that he has always wanted to say but never had a chance to…

“You look well, Yoruichi-san,” he manages to croak out.

“I hate to interrupt this poignant reunion,” Askin calls out, and Yoruichi-san turns around again.

“Poignant?” she snorts. “Clearly your ears aren’t working very well. Just ‘cos somebody’s getting all tongue-tied doesn’t mean it’s a conversation worth getting all emotional about.”

“Is that so? In that case, enough of this not-so-poignant reunion.” A dark ball of energy coalesces in his hand, so dense that it seems to suck all light from the area.

Yoruichi-san shakes herself in preparation, an aura of lightning wreathing her body, the sound of crackling filling the air. When the dust clears again, she’s standing over Askin’s prone form, having driven it several metres into solid rock.

And yet…

“Yoruichi-san, watch out!”

Yoruichi-san backflips away just in time to avoid a concentrated ring of energy. Her expression, what little Kisuke can see of it, is highly disgruntled. “Seriously?”

And to add insult to injury…

Kisuke decides not to point out the fact that all the wounds she left on Askin seem to have healed, leaving him completely pristine. He doesn’t want to risk a heel to his face or something like that, not the least because he’s not masochistic, but also Sir might feel obliged to intervene on his behalf. No matter what manner of oddities their enemies are, a mere S/4 like Yoruichi-san is not a match for Sir.

“Hmph.”

Kisuke doubles down on his own efforts. Just a little more…

Yoruichi-san curses violently as she is forced onto all fours, no doubt by the same ‘poison pool’ that has rendered Kisuke captive. She holds her head up with sheer force of will, arms trembling with the effort, as Askin strolls leisurely towards them.

Kisuke prays for Sir to forgive him, and surges forwards and slams his open palm into the meat of her ass, the only part of her he can reach.

The look on Askin’s face is priceless when they both spring away from his approach.

“Seriously?” Yoruichi-san gripes, cracking her knuckles. “What took you so long, Kisuke?”

“How did you –” Askin cuts himself off. “So, this is why our emperor has titled your special ability as ‘The Means’.” He shakes his head. “But never mind. I have already made myself immune to both of your powers –”

Yoruichi-san drops to all fours, a huge column of electrical energy enveloping her form.

Kisuke shields his eyes with a hand. He’s surprised she actually chose to – but then, she has already seen for herself that Askin is immune to the usual form of her power. Truly a terrifying ability… if they aren’t against Yoruichi-san, whose aura mutates at the rate of forty-eight times per second.

They both go down _hard_.

And yet, the sense of danger around them does not fade. Kisuke rushes forwards, reaching for Yoruichi-san, but it’s too late. An opaque dome rises from the ground, centred around Askin, effectively trapping them all inside.

“Heh,” Askin coughs. He’s finally prone on the ground, barely able to lift even a finger, and this time Kisuke doesn’t get the sense that he’s able to get up again. “I can’t believe I have to resort to something like this for you… but I’ll just say this once. Breaking out of my ‘deadly poison domain’ is absolutely impossible.”

“Do you name all your attacks too?” Kisuke wonders, Yoruichi-san lying unconscious at his feet. He turns to survey the dome, keeping a wary eye on Askin.

Benihime does not make a single scratch.

Kisuke winces. Without the aid of Celebrer Uppers, his powers are running dry, whatever Askin put in this ‘deadly poison domain’ of his is draining them far too quickly for Kisuke to keep up with. But for all his monologuing, there’s something that Askin seems to have forgotten.

“This power of yours,” Kisuke starts thoughtfully, “you mentioned it’s inescapable –”

Right on cue, a sword skewers Askin from above.

“– but you never said it was impenetrable.”

The dome shatters like an afterthought.

Kisuke calls up a shield with the last dredges of his power, collapsing onto his knees, but this time it doesn’t matter –

An arm wraps around his waist, drawing him up against a firm muscled chest, and with a powerful leap they’re soaring backwards through the air.


	6. Day 6: “In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

Kisuke crashes to his knees again when they land, but the softness of the sheepskin rug cushions most of the fall. He tips sideways, resting his body weight against Sir’s side, relaxing his death-grip on Benihime.

Sir busies himself with checking Yoruichi-san’s pulse, making sure she’s merely unconscious from over-exerting herself and not because she’s bleeding out from somewhere, before he settles down with a sigh and manoeuvres Kisuke to lie sideways down in his lap.

He doesn’t speak, although his hands are gentle when they inspect Kisuke thoroughly for any signs of injury.

Kisuke gives an entirely involuntary shudder. Now that he’s exhausted most of his power and the adrenaline’s wearing off, he can’t help but notice how cold it actually is, especially since he is completely naked.

As if in response to his thoughts, a warm duvet settles over him, leaving just his head exposed. Kisuke rubs his cheek against Sir’s thigh in gratitude.

Sir cards his fingers through Kisuke’s hair, but it’s an absent-minded motion. He’s lost in thought, gaze focused on a point in the distance, and Kisuke wonders what he’s sensing.

It can’t be anything good. Yoruichi-san doesn’t so much as twitch in her slumber, which means somewhere out there, there is an entity whose power levels are beyond the comprehension of an S/4.

Well, of course. Askin had been S/4 or S/3 at best, so for someone like him to call someone else _emperor_ , that person must be…

In the recorded history of Soul Society, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni is the first and the only ever known S/0. But Kisuke knows all-too-well that it does not mean no other S/0 _has_ ever been born. After all, only the Four Founding Families keep such meticulous records, and like it or not they must admit that even street rats may be S-ranked.

Street rats like him.

But Kisuke doesn’t think he’s capable of fighting any more, and nor is Yoruichi-san. Sir is, but Kisuke knows better than to suggest Sir leaving him behind while he’s in such a vulnerable state, knowing that the Shihōin Family assassins must be nearby.

_Forgive us for leaving everything up to you, Kuchiki-san, Kurosaki-san._

Sir’s hand freezes in his hair. Zangetsu rattles in their sheaths.

Kisuke closes his eyes briefly. He still can’t sense anything, no matter how much he strains himself, but Sir’s reaction can only mean one thing.

Whoever it is, they’re now _here_.

He struggles to prop himself up, the duvet half-slipping off his shoulders. He doesn’t know what he can do, doesn’t know what he’ll say, only knows that he _has_ to get up, or –

“Thank you.”

A hand grasps his shoulder, steadying him.

“For everything.”

Should that not be his line? Kisuke looks up, brow creasing. He still has not figured out the best words to say, and that indecision renders him mute.

Sir frowns, and he turns away sharply. Kisuke has just a split second to mourn the loss of Sir’s hand before he realises that Sir had only let him go to grab Zangetsu, and that he had swung around to face someone whom Kisuke can now see is standing at the mouth of an alley.

Kisuke sinks back down to the floor, clutching the duvet closer. He… won’t be of any help here.

“Who are you?” Sir demands, Zangetsu in his hands.

“I am Yhwach the Almighty,” the man says. He wears no tags around his neck, but he does not need any to introduce himself. “The S/0 of this generation.”

Sir does not respond, neither to confirm nor to deny that bold claim.

Yhwach smiles. He does not bother to draw a weapon. “I come with a proposition for you, Urahara Kisuke.”

That, more than anything, garners a response from Sir, and a side-step such that Kisuke can no longer see Yhwach. “Do _not_ speak to him –”

“Why do you still kneel beneath the yoke of your abusers?” asks Yhwach, over the sounds of Sir’s protests, and Sir’s voice cuts off abruptly as though by a blade. “You and I, we are not so different.” He stops, as though to gather his thoughts, but possibly for emphasis. “Born to nameless parents, left to starve on the streets, taken in by deceitful nobles masquerading their greed as some act of mercy – only to be tossed aside the moment one of their own _pure-blooded_ children finally manifests as an S-rank?”

He steps into view again, shaking his head. “How does it feel, knowing that the only family you have ever known sent you out to die?”

Sir snarls, but he does not refute those words.

After all, nothing that Yhwach has said so far has been untrue.

A fifteen-year-old S/5 sent to assassinate a nine-year-old S/1. The result should have been obvious: S/1 or not, a child has yet to master the full power of his potential, and should have been no match for a teenager. Unless, of course, the teenager is under-equipped, malnourished, and at less than half of his true strength.

It has been over a decade since then, but Kisuke still remembers.

The terror in his chest when he realises that he’s failed in his mission – the way his hands shook, just a little, when he turns his dagger on himself – the incandescent anger on Sir’s face, which he only far later understands wasn’t directed towards him, when he rips the dagger from Kisuke’s grip and demands to know what is going on.

The contract thrust in his face, written there in black and white – that he only learnt to read much later on – that from that day henceforth, he is no longer the property of the Shihōin Family.

Only Shiba Ichigo will buy out the contract of his own would-be assassin.

“You have seen my subordinate Askin, loyal unto the death, and witnessed the extent of his powers.” Yhwach spreads his arms open. “An S/3, going by the classifications of that factitious system – and he falls by your hand. Tell me, have you never looked at Aizen and yourself, and wondered – why do the street rats only ever merit the lowest of the S-rank classes, even though you are so much more than that?”

Sir’s knuckles are turning white around the hilts of Zangetsu, but he hasn’t sent a single attack at Yhwach yet, even though he’s walking closer and closer.

“And now you are forced to serve a tempestuous child.” Yhwach points at Sir, who twitches violently. “A spoilt brat, who does not lift a finger when you are fighting for your life, who steps in only to take all the credit when the battle is already over, who carelessly throws his strongest attack even though you are in the blast radius?”

“That’s not –” Sir shouts, finally losing his composure, but Yhwach projects his voice to talk over him.

“Nothing you have ever owned your whole life really belongs to you. Even your name – the street you were found on, and a false proclamation that you are forever ‘happy to serve’?”

“You’re right,” Kisuke says. His voice is quiet, but both Sir and Yhwach fall silent – one grim-faced, one triumphant. “My whole life, I’ve never had a choice.”

Yhwach is right about all of it, except one thing.

He rises to his feet, Benihime practically vibrating in his grasp. He walks past the unconscious form of Yoruichi-san – that little girl who slipped her minders in the dark of the night, pockets stuffed full of pork dumplings, always turning up whenever Kisuke was being punished for some imagined transgression or other, the closest thing to a childhood friend he ever had – and comes to stand beside Sir.

“But my heart is my own to give,” he says, and bows his head so he does not have to look Sir in the eye, “and it belongs to _you_ , Ichigo.”

A hand grips at his chin, forcing his head up. Somewhere on the street beyond, Yhwach is having an apoplexy, but all Kisuke can focus on is the sheer depth of emotion glittering untold in those brown eyes.

“I would fight a hundred S/0s just to hear you say my name again.”


	7. Day 7: (free day)

Kisuke sits cross-legged within the ruined remnants of his living room, Benihime trembling violently upon his lap.

Five floors below, the battle rages on, and he is powerless to intervene.

Yhwach is definitely the S/0 he claims to be, he thinks to himself, his fists clenching as Sir dodges too slowly to avoid an arrow to his side. Even Yachiru-san had not been able to press Sir that far.

There is nothing he can restructure to turn the tides in their favour, and even if there is, Yhwach and Sir are moving so fast that he runs the risk of injuring Sir by accident instead.

Should that happen, Sir would forgive him, but – Kisuke isn’t sure he can forgive himself, even if it is something he must do.

He can sense sharp flares of power in the distance, arrays activating here and there, no doubt to bind the rest of Yhwach’s most powerful followers.

That does give him an idea. Kisuke reaches within himself, and then deeper, into the reservoir of his power, the heart of what links him to Benihime. He’s never done this before, but he _has_ restructured items of a similar complexity, and he has studied the seals that had originally held Aizen Sōsuke.

Benihime _sings_ in his hands when Kisuke takes aim and throws.

Sir cries out in agony when the sword skewers through his back. When he turns to look up at Kisuke, his eyes are wide with shock, but there isn’t even the faintest hint of betrayal in his gaze.

Kisuke resists the urge to look away. This man… Kisuke really does not deserve…

Yhwach too stops fighting. He grins up at Kisuke like he thinks they have an understanding, and for that presumption – that they could ever be anything alike – Kisuke pours all of his powers through Benihime’s tip, amplifies it with Sir’s own powers, and smothers Yhwach in a labyrinthine net that will hold even someone like him.

Silence falls.

Sir breathes out harshly, a chuckle and a sigh all rolled into one. He takes a step back, and then another, and Kisuke is on his feet before he even realises he is moving – catches Sir around the shoulders before he staggers.

Sir winces at the way Benihime jostles inside him.

Kisuke bites his lip. He had aimed for one of the least lethal places on the torso, missing Sir’s spine and most of his organs, but it is still a powerful sword stabbed through his abdomen.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on it. Kisuke grips Benihime firmly by the hilt, channels the last dredges of his power through his sword, and yanks Benihime out in one swift movement. Sir chokes, chest heaving, but Kisuke can see his insides getting stitched up as though by invisible sutures, broken blood vessels cauterised by Benihime’s passage.

It’s a minor wound, all things considered. He has seen Sir heal from having his spine almost severed – but still.

Kisuke swallows. He turns his gaze away, wraps an arm around Sir’s waist and leaps for the ruins of their home.

Sir collapses lengthwise onto the couch, massaging his abdomen with his free hand. He has Kisuke’s wrist in a vice-grip with his other hand, refusing to let him retreat.

Since he can’t leave, Kisuke drops to his knees by the couch, lowering his gaze. He can’t make himself meet Sir’s eyes, no matter how well-aware he is of the fact that Sir doesn’t blame him, even though he should, he _should_ –

A hand settles into his hair, brushing through the strands slowly.

Kisuke closes his eyes, barely choking back a sob. He presses his lips to Sir’s arm, trying to convey how much he wants to apologise for hurting him.

“You did well,” Sir murmurs, voice soft and intimate. “You did so well, thank you for sealing him away, Kisuke.”

The hand in Kisuke’s hair slips to grip at his shoulder, and Sir sighs. “I was worried,” he admits, after a long pause, “when you refused to let me release you from your contract.” From the periphery of his vision, Kisuke can just see his frown. “I didn’t know if it was because you think you owed me for saving you, or you didn’t know how to live as a free man anymore, and over the years there’s always that niggling little worry at the back of my mind, you know?”

He doesn’t wait for Kisuke to make any movement, or for him to respond.

“But now I can be sure,” and Ichigo is smiling, relieved and happy like Kisuke hasn’t seen in a long time, “the only reason you’re here is because you want to be.”

* * *

**Shinigami Illustrated Picture Book**

 

> Shihōin Family, Western Soul Society, Emblem: White Tiger (Byakko)
> 
> Shiba Family, Southern Soul Society, Emblem: Vermillion Bird (Suzaku)
> 
> Kuchiki Family, Eastern Soul Society, Emblem: Azure Dragon (Seiryū)
> 
> Gotei Organisation, Northern Soul Society, Emblem: Black Tortoise (Genbu)
> 
> Rukongai, Central Soul Society, a fiefdom of discrete clans vying for dominance, no emblem

* * *

**Shinigami Encyclopaedia**

> S/0 Yamamoto Genryūsai (deceased)
> 
> S/0 Yhwach (presumed)
> 
> S/1 Shiba Ichigo, head of the Shiba
> 
> S/2 Kurosaki (Unohana) Yachiru, head of the Gotei
> 
> S/3 Kuchiki Kōga, head of the Kuchiki
> 
> S/4 Shihōin Yoruichi, head of the Shihōin
> 
> S/5 Aizen Sōsuke (deceased)
> 
> S/5 Urahara Kisuke
> 
> A/0 Zaraki Kenpachi
> 
> A/2 Tsukabishi Tessai
> 
> D/5 Yamada Hanatarō
> 
> Normals: Mizuiro, Keigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! As always, with many thanks to cywscross for hosting the event this year, and all the cheerleaders in the UraIchi Discord server for your overwhelming support!

**Author's Note:**

> Updated daily: 7 chapters for 7 days of the event.
> 
> Because somebody implied I can't fit 7 days' worth of prompts chronologically into one fic. To which I say, **_fite me_**.
> 
> [cywscross's UraIchi Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/ADFnKTZ#_=_) | [Starrie's fic sneak preview server](https://discord.gg/8yJVmbD) | [Starrie's Tumblr](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com)


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